


You do from time to time

by rivers_bend



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cock & Ball Torture, Cuddling & Snuggling, Friends With Benefits, Kink Exploration, M/M, Open Relationships, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn Watching, ball slapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 03:54:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivers_bend/pseuds/rivers_bend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Harry seems no more fazed by tonight than any other time they’ve watched porn and jerked off, so why should Zayn be?</i>
</p><p> </p><p>or the one where Harry and Zayn watch porn and have kinky sex</p>
            </blockquote>





	You do from time to time

**Author's Note:**

> The Obvious: I do not know any of the people whose names and public personas are used here, and neither believe nor mean to imply this ever happened. 
> 
> Thank you to Vae for beta and britpick <3

Zayn was going to have a bath, read for a while, and get an early night. But when Harry’d said, “I could use a cuddle, how ‘bout you?” that sounded like a much better idea, so instead, he’s in Harry’s bed, lying curled against his chest, legs over one of Harry’s thighs, head resting on his shoulder. They sit for a few minutes, Harry’s cheek resting on Zayn’s forehead, but then Harry says, “So, d’you wanna watch porn?” and nearly folds Zayn in half to get his laptop off the side table before Zayn can even reply. To be fair, Zayn has never answered no to that question, so Harry’s not exactly being presumptuous. 

Harry sets the laptop on his knees, arms bracketing Zayn so he can get to the keyboard. Three years ago, Zayn would have thought it was super weird to sit so close and watch porn with one of your best friends—his hip is one-hundred percent intimate with Harry’s dick right now—but his lines have all undergone major adjustment since he met the lads, and Harry gives great cuddles, and Zayn can’t remember that there was ever a time it would have occurred to him to sit any farther away.

With his eyes closed, Zayn can hear the click of the track pad and the softer clicks of the keys as Harry types something, can hear the air going in and out of Harry’s lungs as he breathes and the faint whirr of the aircon in the next room. “Okay,” Harry says softly into Zayn’s hair. “Here it is. If it’s too weird, I don’t know. Just say or whatever.” 

It’s not like Harry to sound… sheepish is the best word Zayn can think of right now. It’s not like him to sound sheepish about his porn. Zayn can’t count the nights they’ve all spent in various combinations trying to find the craziest porn on the internet and watch it through to the end. Harry’s really good at it, though Niall is reigning champion. This obviously isn’t that, though. Which must mean this is something Harry’s actually into and he’s worried Zayn’s going to think he’s a freak. 

“Already know you’re a freak in the sheets, mate,” Zayn says, giving Harry a soft pat on the chest. “Don’t think you’re gonna shock me.” 

Harry gives a small huff of amusement that Zayn feels more than hears. “Still. We can turn it off if you want.” 

Zayn gives Harry a pinch. “Hav’ta turn it on before you can turn it off.” 

Harry hits play. 

The camera’s aimed at a closed door, and there’s a man standing against it. The video’s cropped so the guy in frame is only visible from his chin to his knees, and he’s wearing like rubber shorts and a rubber kind of harness thing with holes cut in so his junk and his nipples are poking out. His hands are tied above his head, and what they can see of his chin is covered in a mask, or maybe a gag. He’s older than them, hairier and thicker, but Zayn can picture Harry like that pretty easily, bits of his tattoos visible around the harness. Based on what they’ve talked about late at night, what Zayn’s seen, hell, what he’s felt the times he and Harry’ve ended up drunk and making out, palming each other through their pants, Harry’d be as hard as the guy on the video too, all trussed up like that. The rubber looks sweaty, and Harry’s always seemed more into being naked, but he likes a show, too, and this definitely puts the guy’s cock and balls on show. 

Carefully, like he’s afraid a sudden movement might send his computer flying, Harry lifts his hands from the laptop and settles one on Zayn’s knee, the other on Zayn’s hip. Another man comes into frame, shorter than the first, wearing some kind of satin hood, an every-day shirt, and shorts. He doesn’t really fit in with the rest of the scene, mask aside. He shouldn’t be the weirdest thing Zayn’s seen so far, but he is. 

He plays with the bound guy’s nipples for a bit, then his cock, then both, just using his fingers. The way he’s moaning and his cock is jerking, the tied-up guy’s pretty into it, and Zayn’s guessing from how still Harry’s gone, he’s into it too. 

“This the weird part?” Zayn asks. Before Harry has a chance to answer, the guy in the shorts slaps the other one’s nuts and Harry’s fingers flinch. “Never mind,” Zayn says and shifts a little so he doesn’t have to turn his head quite so much to see the screen. 

The first slap is followed by a second, a third, a fourth, not very hard from the looks of it, but they keep going, steady, relentless. The guy’s dick jerks every time, getting harder and harder, and he’s writhing even more than when the hooded man was stroking him. It goes on for more than a minute, and then the—top is the word Zayn’s looking for—the top pauses to pinch and pull and flick the sub’s nipples again. Zayn peers at the screen. “Is his sac swollen?” he asks Harry.

“Yeah,” Harry says, voice low and rough. “Yeah. It gets— It gets pretty big.” 

The top must be hitting him harder than it looks. Zayn shifts again, and okay. Speaking of things that are getting pretty big. Harry’s dick is standing up, head of it damp through his pants where Zayn’s tee isn’t quite meeting the band of his briefs. “You need a hand with that?” Zayn asks. Most of the time they take care of themselves if the porn’s good, half pretending their elbows aren’t almost touching as they work their dicks, but sometimes a friend’s hand is better than your own. 

“We could watch more,” Harry says. “If you want?” 

Zayn’s pretty sure he doesn’t want _his_ nuts smacked until they’re three times normal size, but he’s got nothing against watching it happen to some faceless dude on the internet. “Sure,” he says. 

The top goes back to slapping, pinching and rolling first one nipple then the other with his other hand. Zayn wouldn’t have thought it would do it for him, but the way the sub’s so into it is pretty hot. So is the way Harry’s breathing has gone short and ragged, the way his hips are rocking _just_ enough that Zayn can feel it. Zayn’s fingertips are only a centimetre away from Harry’s left nipple, and Zayn gives it a slow pinch, making Harry gasp sharply. 

“Yeah?” Zayn asks, just to make sure. Maybe tonight Harry just wants to watch. Zayn doubts it, but maybe. 

“Yes,” Harry hisses between clenched teeth. “Harder?” 

Zayn can do that. He stops watching the vid and watches Harry’s nipple instead, the way it pebbles under his fingers, goes red as he plays with it. Harry presses his shoulders back into the pillows, arching his chest into Zayn’s hand, pushing his dick harder into Zayn’s hip. He’s digging his fingers into Zayn’s waist and his thigh, making soft noises against the top of Zayn’s head. “I can—“ Zayn whispers. “Whatever you want. Wank you off, or—“ It feels so good making Harry twitch like this, making him sound so needy. If he doesn’t want a handjob, Zayn’s gonna ask if he minds if Zayn gives himself one. 

“Would you— shit, Zayn, do you think you could— Could you hit me? Like that? Hit my bollocks?” 

Surprised, Zayn pinches Harry’s nipple _hard_ , but Harry just groans and spreads his knees. “Fuck, Haz, really?” Zayn asks. There’s a lot of shit Zayn likes to watch on video that he doesn’t want to try in person, but, once he thinks about it, it doesn’t actually surprise him Harry wants to try this. “You sure?” he asks, though. Because Harry’s impulsive. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, tugging Zayn’s hair so Zayn has to look him in the eye. “I’m sure. I’ve tried, like, on my own, but it’s hard to hit yourself in the nuts, you know?” 

Zayn can’t say he’s ever tried it. “I can see that,” he says. He did tell Harry he’d do whatever Harry wanted, and it’s not like it will be difficult to tell if Harry’s not into it, with Harry’s dick right there staying hard or not. Still. “You have to tell me if you don’t like it, though. If, like, it hurts too much.” 

“Promise,” Harry says. One good thing about this being Harry and not Louis or even one of the other lads. Harry’s not proud, doesn’t mind saying he was wrong or changed his mind about something. Harry’s never lied to Zayn. If he promises, he means it. 

“Yeah,” Zayn says. “Okay.” 

Harry’s got his laptop off his knees and onto the bedside table before Zayn can blink, and then he’s pushing Zayn off his lap and trying to get his pants off at the same time. 

They end up with Harry starfished naked on the bed, Zayn kneeling next to his left hip, still in his boxers and t-shirt. It’s weird enough that he’s going to smack Harry’s naked junk, he doesn’t need to do it with his own hanging out. The guy in shorts in the video seems less weird now. “Promise?” Zayn asks again, knowing Harry will know what he’s promising about. 

“Promise. I’m gonna like it, though. Look how hard I am just thinking about it.” 

Trust Harry to point out his erection without blushing. He’s obviously worked out that Zayn meant it when he said he wasn’t judging Harry’s kinks. “Hard,” Zayn agrees. 

“You can do it,” Harry says. His hands are gripping the sheets and his toes are wiggling in anticipation. 

“Lemme—“ Zayn needs to get a feel first, so he slides a hand up Harry’s thigh, cups his balls, strokes his palm up the length of Harry’s cock. “What if I miss?” he asks. 

Harry shrugs like he can’t think of anything that matters less. “Like slapping anywhere,” he says. “Just wanna see, on my nuts, how much I can, you know. Take.” 

Watching Harry’s face, Zayn palms his nutsac again, feeling the give of it, how it moves. This isn’t gonna be like a swift backhand to the junk while Harry’s in jeans. “Okay,” he says softly, not sure if he’s acquiescing or trying to reassure himself. 

When Zayn strokes Harry’s thigh again, his hips twitch up, making his cock sway against his belly. “Zayn,” Harry groans. “Are you gonna?” 

“I’m gonna,” Zayn says. He keeps one hand on Harry’s hip, to steady himself while he draws the other hand back. He’s not sure he can do it, until he does. 

It’s not much of a slap, less than he does on Niall’s wrist when Niall tries to steal a chip off his plate, but it makes Harry gasp, makes his legs jump and his dick jerk sideways. “Yeah?” Zayn asks. 

“Why does it feel so much better when my dick’s hard?” 

“Heh,” Zayn says. “Gonna leave you to answer that. Again?” 

“Harder,” Harry says. “You can. I’ll say if it’s too much.” 

Zayn lays his left hand over Harry’s dick this time, holding it up against his belly, and swings his right up between Harry’s thighs to catch his nuts with his fingers. It’s strange, slapping something so soft with that much give—nothing like spanking someone’s arse—and it feels like he’s not doing it right. But Harry’s dick twitches under his hand in a way that makes Zayn’s dick stir in response, so he does it again. 

This time Harry’s eyes close and his knees come up, and Zayn’s not sure if he should say sorry or do it again. “Fuck,” Harry breathes. “Yeah. That was— That was a good one.” 

“Shit, Harry.” Zayn’s hands are suddenly sweating. He wipes them on his t-shirt and briskly rubs his thighs. His knees are getting a bit sore, so he shifts to sitting on his arse. The angle isn’t as good, but it looks like they might be here longer than he thought. “Doesn’t it hurt?” Zayn asks. He’s been the victim of enough lads being arseholes or bandmates having a laugh to be intimately familiar with how it feels to have your junk hit repeatedly. 

“Yeah,” Harry says. “But that’s— Just go again? Please?” 

It’s not clear to Zayn even as he does it, if putting a hand back on Harry’s hip is meant to steady Harry or himself, but it seems to work either way. It’s easier from here to use the back of his fingers, flicking his wrist to come up under Harry’s sac in a stinging blow that makes Harry hiss something Zayn’s ninety-percent sure is _yessss_. In the video, the top didn’t stop after the first few smacks, kept going steady, slap, slap, slap, so Zayn tries it. 

Keeping his aim true, he’s watching what he’s doing, not looking at Harry’s face, but he’s listening hard to Harry’s breathing, at the way it catches over and over every time Zayn lands a hit. If Harry’s not holding his breath, he must have the air to say stop if he wants Zayn to stop. Except Zayn sneaks a look up, and he’s not sure Harry’s completely _here_ anymore. 

His head’s tipped back, jaw lax, eyelids fluttering like he’s dreaming. Or at least how they make dreaming look in movies—Zayn’s never seen someone sleep like that in real life. “Haz?” Zayn asks, and Harry nods, three short jerks of his head, so Zayn hits him again. 

Distracted, he mostly misses, just catching Harry’s nuts with two fingers, and scratching the inside of his thigh with the corner of a nail. The mark it leaves stands out against the flush on his skin. “Sorry,” Zayn says. “Sorry.” 

Like he doesn’t even hear, Harry bites his lip and wraps a hand around his dick. That’s when Zayn notices Harry’s leaked precome down his cock and in large drips on his belly. He’s jerking himself roughly, eyes still closed, lip blanching where he’s pinching it between his teeth. Is Zayn supposed to keep hitting him? Supposed to stop now he’s jerking off? Should he ask?

He’s still trying to decide when Harry comes with a grunt, leg pressing hard against Zayn’s thigh, eyes flying open. It takes Zayn by surprise, and then the surprise surprises him, and he ends up laughing, just a short bark, but enough Harry notices and does an exaggerated pout. It’s close enough to the face Harry makes when they’re taking the piss and he’s about to laugh that Zayn knows Harry isn’t actually offended, but this one is definitely more fucked-out looking. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is, probably. 

“Shit, mate. That was, wow. How weird is it I kinda want to kiss it better?” Zayn asks him. 

Harry blinks but doesn’t have anything to say about that apparently. Zayn decides it is weird, so he doesn’t do it. It’s a hell of a step from tossing it with your bandmates to sucking them off, especially when neither of them have been drinking. He’s not actually sure where on the line beating up your bandmate’s junk to get him off is, but he’s not going to think about that right now. Right now he’s really hard, and in that way where he doesn’t just want to go in the loo and have a wank into the toilet.

Not that that is gonna happen anyway. Not with the way Harry’s snaking his arm up under Zayn’s shirt and pulling him down. Zayn has to roll to not elbow Harry in the chest, but ends up curled against his side, Harry’s arms around him, shirt trailing in the mess on Harry’s chest. It’s cool, though. Zayn can do cuddle time. He can even do it without rubbing off on Harry’s hip, probably.

“Mmm,” Harry says, thumb stroking over Zayn’s shoulder blade. Zayn strokes back, fingers tracing Harry’s ribs. It makes a good distraction from how turned on Zayn is. They lie like that for a while, until the flush is gone from Harry’s skin, until his breathing is slow and regular, until he’s not even stroking anymore but has his hand flat and warm in the centre of Zayn’s back. Zayn’s gone mostly soft, hovering in that space where a little more attention than the pressure of Harry’s hip could get him completely interested again, but he could also fall asleep if that were all that was on offer. 

“You okay?” Zayn asks into Harry’s chest. With Harry’s dick in the way, Zayn can’t see his sac from this angle, see if it’s swelled up or anything. 

“Mmm,” Harry says again. “Good.” 

“Okay.” 

Then, showing more grasp of the English language than Zayn thought him currently capable of, Harry says, “Definitely owe you like a blowjob for that.” 

And maybe Zayn will take that wank in the bathroom. If even half Harry’s bragging is true, Zayn has reason to believe Harry Styles gives a mean blowjob, and it’s been months since Zayn and Perrie were in the same place at the same time, so a blowjob sounds amazing. With bonus points for the resulting sexy-story skype date with his girlfriend. (The other stuff tonight isn’t Zayn’s story to tell, it’s Harry’s, and Zayn’s not about to ask him if he minds if Perrie hears all about it.) “A blowjob?” he asks. 

“Yes,” Harry says, and the hand that’s been resting under Zayn’s shirt is now pulling it off as Harry rolls Zayn onto his back. Then, oh, there go his boxers, and Harry’s leaning over Zayn’s lap, fingers around his dick. 

It turns out Zayn had overestimated how long it would take him to get hard again, and underestimated Harry’s blowjob skills. All the bananas he eats, or he has sucked as much cock as he’s claimed, but he goes down to his fingers in one smooth slide, pulling back with a slow drag of lips and tongue, wet and hot and looking like the porn Zayn watches when he wants some alone time. 

“Fuck,” Zayn says when Harry goes down again, then, “Shit,” when he starts bobbing, fucking his mouth onto Zayn’s dick. Zayn hasn’t had all that many blow jobs to compare it to, but this one is definitely doing it for him. He watches twenty more seconds, thirty tops, then has to close his eyes, choke out, “Close.” 

He’s not sure what Harry will do, or what he wants him to do. They’re obviously over the cocksucking line, but is swallowing a step too far? Will that be the thing that makes it weird in the morning? And now he’s not on the edge of coming anymore, but Harry’s pulling off anyway, jerking Zayn’s dick with his spit-slick hand, watching himself do it from inches away. 

“You want to come on my face?” he offers. And that’s— wow. That’s a thing Zayn’s pretty sure would be imprinted on his mind’s eye for a _while_. And they need to work together. Hopefully for a long time.

“Can you— Would you kiss me?” he asks, because that seems safer. 

Carefully—and that’s not like Harry, but, oh yeah, half an hour ago he was begging Zayn to hit him in the nuts repeatedly—Harry crawls up so he can reach Zayn’s mouth. He loses his rhythm with the hand on Zayn’s dick, but doesn’t let go, and Zayn’s grateful for that. Grateful too, for the smile Harry gives him, cheeky and sweet and the smile Zayn sees every day. It says _this isn’t weird_ better than words ever could. And then Harry’s kissing him, slide and catch of lips, just enough tongue, and those long steady pulls on his dick are back to take Zayn to the edge again. 

Not quite as soon as Zayn would have done on himself, but soon enough, Harry switches to short and tight right under the head, which is just what Zayn needs. He comes with his cheek pressed to Harry’s face, his fingers digging into Harry’s back. While he’s getting his breath, Harry pressing tiny kisses to his shoulder, it occurs to Zayn that Harry must have been watching more closely than he’d thought to Zayn wanking those other times they’ve watched porn together. 

“You sleeping here?” Harry asks, resting his arm across Zayn’s ribs like he’s sure the answer is going to be yes. 

Zayn considers. He’s shared beds with Harry more times than he can count, slept next to him on floors and sofas, and he’s sticky and needs a shower before traipsing around hotel corridors. Harry seems no more fazed by tonight than any other time they’ve watched porn and jerked off, so why should Zayn be?

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m staying.” 

“Good.” Harry nuzzles Zayn’s near collar bone. “Night.” 

“Night,” Zayn answers. He shifts Harry just a bit so his head isn’t crushing Zayn’s collarbone, and falls asleep before he can mention that he gets first dibs on the shower in the morning.


End file.
